Christmas in His Royal Bed / Rossellini's Revenge Affair. Yvonne Lindsay

you wanted to speak to me.”

      “Yes,” he replied slowly. “May I offer you a glass of champagne?”

      She opened her mouth to refuse, but the hulk was already pouring and setting a glass in front of her.

      “Thank you.”

      Though they both had drinks now, and the evening’s event was clearly over, the man seated beside her still didn’t speak. The silence made Alandra shift uncomfortably, and caused gooseflesh to break out along her arms.

      “What did you need to speak with me about, Mr.…” she finally pressed, careful to remain as polite as possible.

      “You may call me Nicolas,” he replied.

      His voice carried a slight accent. Perhaps the hint of a British lilt, but Alandra couldn’t place it.

      “Nicolas,” she repeated, because he seemed to expect it. Then she continued in her attempts to get to his reason for wanting to speak with her.

      “Were you interested in making a donation to the fund for the new children’s cancer wing of the hospital?” she asked. “If so, I would be happy to accept a check tonight. Or if you’d prefer, I can put you in touch with someone from the organization you can speak with, to make your contribution personally.”

      For a moment after she finished, he simply continued to study her, his lapis-blue eyes sharp and commandingly intense.

      After taking another sip of the expensive champagne, he slowly said, “I would be happy to give to your little…cause. However, that is not why I invited you over here.”

      Alandra’s eyes widened fractionally at that, but she did her best to hide her consternation.

      “I am staying in a suite of rooms here in this hotel,” he informed her. “I’d like for you to return there with me. Spend the rest of the evening in my bed. If things go well and we are…compatible, perhaps we can discuss further arrangements.”

      Alandra blinked, but otherwise remained frozen in place, her entire body mannequin-stiff and unmoving. She couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d lifted a hand and slapped her across the face.

      She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what she should say.

      This certainly wasn’t the first time she’d been propositioned. Young or old, rich or poor, men had always been attracted to her, and she’d had more than her share of invitations to dinner, the theater, even romantic jaunts to private island hideaways.

      And, yes, she was well aware that every single one of those men had hopes that dinner, the theater and tropical getaways would help him to seduce her into his bed.

      But never—never—had any of them been so bold, so brash, as to flat-out ask her to sleep with him.

      This was all because of the scandal, she realized suddenly, her spine snapping straight with offense. Those bloody articles had labeled her an immoral home wrecker. And this man had obviously gotten wind of that and decided she wouldn’t be averse to an indecent proposal.

      Well, she was averse. She was disgusted and thoroughly insulted.

      Pushing her chair back, she rose to her feet, rearranged her shawl across her back and arms, and tightened her fingers on her small clutch purse. Concentrating on her breathing, she stood perfectly rigid, looking down at him.

      “I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am. But I can assure you I’m not the kind to go to bed with a man I’ve just met.”

      She cut a quick glance at the bear standing at attention a yard or two away. “Maybe your bodyguard can find someone a little more willing and a lot less discriminating to go back to your room with you tonight. That is, if you’re utterly incapable of finding her on your own.”

      With that, Alandra turned on her heel and marched out of the ballroom to the elevator.

      Just who the hell did the man think he was?

      Two

      Who did she think she was to speak to him in such a manner?

      Nicolas had never been turned down like that before.

      He blinked once, slowly, searching his memory for a similar incident that might have taken place during his lifetime.

      No, he didn’t think he’d been turned down ever.

      Had she actually implied that he was incapable of finding his own female companionship? Or that he had to order Osric to pay a woman to spend time with him?

      He shook his head, still not quite believing what had just taken place. Behind him, Osric shuffled closer, looming over his right shoulder.

      “Your Highness, shall I go after her and bring her back so that you may finish your conversation?”

      Nicolas could picture his oversize bodyguard, who closely resembled a brick wall, tackling Miss Sanchez to the ground and carting her back to him…and the fuss the lady would kick up if he so much as tried.

      “No, thank you, Osric,” he replied. “I believe I’ll be returning to the suite alone this evening.”

      Placing his hands on the tabletop in front of him, he stood and straightened the front of his jacket, then started out of the ballroom, with his trusty security guard close on his heels.

      He should be upset, Nicolas thought, as they made their way through the hotel to his private, luxurious suite on the thirty-third floor.

      Ironically, he was more intrigued than ever by the ebony-haired beauty. It was her face and figure that had first caught his attention, and seeing her up close hadn’t changed his mind about having her in his bed.

      He would have expected a dressing-down such as she’d given him to turn him off, to make him realize he didn’t want to sleep with a woman who possessed such a sharp tongue. Instead, her spirit fired his blood.

      If anything, he found himself wanting her more. She was lovely and fierce, and he could only imagine how passionately those qualities would translate between the sheets.

      Alandra Sanchez might think she’d gotten in the last word downstairs, when she’d all but told him to take his offer and go straight to the devil. But Prince Stephan Nicolas Braedon was used to getting his way, getting what he wanted.

      And he wanted her.

      So he would have her. He only had to figure out how.

      One week later…

      “Pop? Alandra? Is anybody here?”

      Alandra heard her sister calling from downstairs, and was more than happy to take a break from the event plans she’d been working on all afternoon.

      Since Elena had moved out of their father’s house and into her own with her new husband, Chase, Alandra didn’t get to see her as often as she used to.

      Abandoning her desk, she found her sister looking slightly frazzled as she flipped through a pile of mail stacked beside a large arrangement of fresh flowers on the round table in the center of the foyer. When she heard Alandra’s approach, Elena raised her head and rolled her eyes.

      “A reporter tried to follow my car through the security gate,” she snapped, waving a hand over her shoulder in the direction of the front door. “He was camped out front, waiting.”

      Alandra frowned, moving closer to give her sister a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry. I really thought they’d have lost interest by now and moved on to something else.”

      “It’s not your fault,” Elena said with a sigh, returning Alandra’s hug. “And eventually they will lose interest and move on.”

      “So what are you doing here?” she asked distractedly, her mind still on the reporter. It was one thing for her to be harassed and annoyed because of her own foolish actions, but it was another